


Dream Big, Little Man

by trimalchio



Series: Private Conversations in a Hotel Room [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trimalchio/pseuds/trimalchio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cristiano Ronaldo visits Lionel Messi after Portugal gets knocked out of the World Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Big, Little Man

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Never happened, never will happen, is not currently happening.

Cristiano flopped onto the bed, rolling his eyes. He pressed random buttons on the remote, but turned on the fan. Another press of random buttons turned on the television to loud grunting from a late night space-themed porno on some weirdo movie channel. Leo grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, “I don't want anyone to know you're here. You're not supposed to be here.”

“So you'd rather have your teammates hear you speaking to a presumably mysterious person, but you don't want them to think you might tug it once in a while. No wonder they all act like you're a toddler when you're drunk,” Cristiano inspected his fingernails while Leo stood at the foot of the bed, not sure what to do.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“I've seen that one YouTube video. You know the one...you try to take that giant Chupa Chups that's the same size as you,” Cristiano said, smiling like a wolf. He snapped his gum loudly, “You looked like a toddler drunk on lemonade.”

“Whatever,” he said, turning red anyway, “At least, I know how to celebrate. We have a history of winning at Barcelona.”

“Yeah, us at Real Madrid. In a real trophy drought. It was only the...what was it again? Oh yeah, la Decima,” Cristiano smirked, “And the Copa del Rey. It didn't even get run over by a bus this time. I even have one of those trophies that you held hostage for a few years...the Ballon d'Or. You remember what that one looks like?”

“It's not hard to, when you have four of them. Soon to be five.”

Cristiano snorted, “Dream big, Little Man.”

“At least, I'm still in the World Cup,” Leo said. As soon as he said it, he felt a little bit. Whatever their fucked up thing was exactly, it depended upon total equality of results. Cristiano won the Ballon d'Or most recently. Leo won it more. Cristiano won trophies with his team. Leo won trophies with his team. It also depended on the more-or-less equal failures with their national teams in international tournaments. If Cristiano had won a Euro or if Leo won a Copa Ámerica, it was very likely they would probably just stop talking. If one of them won the World Cup, the other would probably hire an hitman to kill the winner.

They were kind of friends. Leo probably wouldn't tell anyone that they hung out with each other. It wasn't that kind of relationship. It wasn't anything to hide either. Leo's feelings on the matter were somewhat complex, even though just hanging out with Cristiano was very simple. No one understood Leo as well as Cristiano when it came to expectations and pressure. To some degree, it was a relief that Cristiano wasn't thoroughly insane.

Cristiano stood up, saying grumpily, “You know what, I might stop by Pipita's room. At least he's good for a laugh.”

Cristiano's knuckles were white from clenching. Leo put his hand on Cristiano's chest, “You should stay. You don't want to get Pipita in trouble too.”

It wasn't really about not wanting Pipita to get into trouble. Leo liked having Cristiano around. He didn't really understand why or when he developed this affection, but it existed and it was hard to deny.

“Maybe I'll call in an anonymous tip about illicit visitors. You'll get kicked out of the camp. We could go in halfsies for a ticket back to Spain.”

“What about the other seat? We'll need another seat.”

“You're small. You'll fit in the overhead bin.”

They were quiet for a little bit, while Cristiano turned on the TV again. Leo let him. Cristiano left on a late night talk show, where some model was talking about the World Cup, as everyone was wont to during June and July every four years.

“Who don't you want to win?” Leo asked.

“I'd prefer it if everyone just went home,” Cristiano clapped his hands together and mimed wiping them, “Just dust off and agree that this wasn't anyone's best effort.”

“You'd do that to everyone?”

“I'm fine with everyone being disappointed.”

Even when Leo lost in 2010, he didn't feel ill will towards the other teams, except for maybe Germany. He was fairly comfortable with the tournament going on without him.

“I especially don't want you to win, the United States-not that they were going to anyway, or Brazil. Marcelo will probably make us worship him as a hero, if he wins. I love Marcelo, but I wouldn't be able to worship him.”

“You're okay with Benzema or Khedira winning though?”

“Sami probably wouldn't tell any of us if he won and Karim? You think Karim will remember after a month of being away from the rest of us?” Cristiano laughed, “I'm pretty sure he forgets he's a striker sometimes. I'd be able to live if one those morons won. What about you? Who don't you want to win?”

“Probably just Brazil. But for obvious reasons.”

Cristiano winked, “I get it. You don't want Neymar showing you up.”

“Not _those_ obvious reasons. Just because no one in Argentina wants Brazil to do well. Ever. That's just how it is.”

Cristiano smirked, leaning in close to Leo's face, “It's okay. You can tell me. God knows I hate getting shown up. Especially by South American midgets.”

“I'm not as bad a loser as you.”

“Please. No one becomes the best player in the world because they're a good at losing. I'm not asking you to become Luis Suárez or anything, but show a little fight. Be a little arrogant. It's fun.”

Leo sighed dramatically, but didn't give in. He asked, “What would you do if Argentina wins?”

“Kill you.”

“I'm serious.”

“I am serious too. Next Clásico, I'll kick your head clean off your neck.”

The thought of Cristiano murdering him through decapitation by kick was pretty funny, so Leo laughed. Cristiano got closer, peering at Leo's face, as though he was studying it. He looked like a curious, tanned puppy. Cristiano pressed his lips against Leo's and Leo stopped laughing, although he wasn't entirely displeased with this turn of events.

Eventually, Cristiano pulled away; he looked sort of confused. Leo didn't say anything, in response, to what had happened.

Leo spoke first, “What was that?”

“You're cute when you laugh,” Cristiano shrugged, “It was an understandable impulse. I'm sure you feel the same way whenever you look at my face.”

Leo rolled his eyes. Not that he would tell anyone, but no one would ever believe him that sometimes Cristiano visited him and kissed him.

Eventually, far too soon, Cristiano had to leave, to sneak back to his own hotel, to go back to Portugal. Leo and Cristiano stood near the door, trying to make up excuses why he should stay. Cristiano said, “You know, when you get knocked out, stop by Madeira. It's quite pretty there.”

Leo nodded.

“Happy birthday, Leo Messi. That kiss was the present,” Cristiano said, as he opened the door to leave. He yelled walking away, “Imagine what you'll get at Christmas!”

Leo shut the door, turned off the television and laid in bed, not sure what to think.  Cristiano's visit sure didn't make him feel any better about the game about Switzerland.

The next morning at breakfast, Pipita asked, "Are you nervous about the game?"

"I'm Leo Messi.  Why would I be nervous?" Leo was lying to himself and to Pipita, but it did make him feel a little better.  A little thrill of arrogance fluttered in his belly.  Some of Cristiano's ideas weren't totally dumb, Leo had to admit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: A video wherein a drunk Lionel Messi tries to steal a giant Chupa Chups (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVG_Vd9vaYY)
> 
> A/N 2: I hope you enjoy the fic!


End file.
